


Keys

by arojameswesley



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Combetaire is the endgame here, Gen, Kingsman AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, brief mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arojameswesley/pseuds/arojameswesley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre is part of the British secret service: the Kingsmen. Grantaire is a delinquent from east London. Combeferre is intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd - please forgive any mistakes.

It started with a phone call, as thing like this are wont to do.

It was an unexpected phone call - of course.

It was a phone call warning Combeferre that his car had been stolen.

For most people, this might have caused an outburst or a few (or more) tears. For Combeferre, it was hardly the end of the world. He doubted that the thief would get very far and if they did he'd be able to track them down quite easily. First things first, he'd finish his cup of tea and skim the morning paper.

Not that he would read anything that he didn't already know.

An hour (and two cups of tea) later, he folded the paper, brushed toast crumbs from his trousers and pulled his iPad towards him. Honestly, he was surprised to see how far the thief had got with his car. There were at least seven security measures in place to prevent anybody getting into the car without the proper clearance.

After all, a Kingman's car wasn't for public use. It wasn't _safe_ for the public to use. And yet, Combeferre was in no hurry to go after it just yet. He was curious to see what the thief planned on doing with it.

For the first time in a long time, he was _intrigued_ by something that wasn't his work.

It took a very clever person indeed to be able to get past all seven security features - and a cleverer person still to then bypass the further three to get the car to start. Merlin's first assumption had been that someone from another organisation had stolen the car to try and learn more about the Kingsmen but that had been proven wrong.

Since it had been stolen, the car hadn't stopped moving; but it didn't seem to be heading in any one direction. The route, showing in green on his iPad, criss-crossed and doubled back and seemed to take corners at random. Combeferre was quite sure that whoever had taken his car was currently on a joyride.

No matter, he thought. Whatever it was being used for, he would find it and whoever took it.

Fifteen minutes later, the car came to a stop in an estate in east London. Combeferre gave it another twenty minutes but the car didn't move. It was time to go and meet the thief.

Half an hour later, the taxi pulled up in front of his own car. It was parked outside an old, run down pub and, for the first time, he was annoyed at the thief. Drinking and driving was dangerous, especially in a car as well-equipped as his own. Still, he was here now.

Shoes clicking against the concrete, he made his way up to the door and into the pub.

There weren't many customers; there was a group of fifty-something men playing pool, a couple of lone punters at the bar and a lad in the corner, who looked to be a couple of years younger than Combeferre.

The young man was toying absently with a set of keys. The keys caught the light as he tossed them up in the air and clinked quietly when he closed his fingers around them again, over and over.  
  
Combeferre cleared his throat and crossed the dingy room, stopping a couple of feet away from the thief’s table. 

“I believe those are _my_ keys.”


	2. Chapter 2

The boy moved all at once, nearly knocking over his coke as he shoved himself to his feet and went for the door. Combeferre was surprised (yet again) by him. He was fast - elegant, too. Even so, he was no match for a trained Kingsman.

All it took was half a step to his left and the thief barrelled right into his chest.   
  
“Sit down,” he said mildly, nodding to the chair that had been knocked over in his haste to escape. “Come now, there’s no need to draw unnecessary attention to yourself. Pick that up and sit down.”   
  
He watched the indecision flicker over his face but he ultimately complied.   
  
With a smile, Combeferre took a seat opposite him.   
  
“Look, mister, there’s not a scratch on your car. Here’s your keys.” He slid them across the table, his movements quick and jerky - fearful, Combeferre realised as he caught his keys.   
  
“I’m not angry,” he assured him at length, glancing at his drink. Not alcohol, he realised, pursing his lips. “I’m interested.” He paused, looking over at him. “In you.”   
  
There was a moment of silence and then the boy stood, waving a hand dismissively.   
  
“ _Sit down_.”   
  
Again, he paused and then complied with a huff.   
  
“What’s your name?”   
  
“Ian.”   
  
Combeferre tutted. “You’re an awful liar. Try again.”  
  
“Grantaire. Are you going to the cops about this?”   
  
This time, it was Combeferre’s turn to hesitate. He knew that he should. He shook his head. “No. I’m not going to,” he said.   
  
“Right. I’d better be on my way, then. Nice car.” For the third time, Grantaire stood and, for the third time, Combeferre stopped him.   
  
“For the last time, Grantaire, sit down. I’d like to talk to you.”   
  
Rolling his eyes, Grantaire dropped back down into the seat and leaned back, watching Combeferre intently. “Say what you have to say. I don’t have all day.”   
  
Combeferre took his time, mulling over his options. He had nothing left to say to Grantaire but he didn’t want him to go just yet. The young man was interesting and obviously very capable.   
  
“I’d like to offer you a job. Well. The chance to go through the recruiting process.”  
  
“Doing what?” A look of realisation dawned and Grantaire couldn’t hide his cocky grin. “You run a stolen car business, don’t you? That’s how you got such a nice car and all that money for that fancy suit.”   
  
“No. They are perks of the job, though.”   
  
Grantaire’s expression fell but he remained carefully curious. “What’s the job, then?”   
  
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Combeferre deadpanned.   
  
Grantaire laughed aloud at that and Combeferre couldn’t help but notice how his whole expression lit up.   
  
“Why don’t I drive you home? I’ll tell you a little more about the recruitment process on the way.”   
  
Whatever amusement Grantaire had felt disappeared in the space of six words.  


“Yeah,” he muttered, his shoulders dipping just slightly. He had no reason to believe that Combeferre would take him home; he'd more likely take him to the police station but what did he have to lose? “Yeah, I guess I should be getting home soon. I’d appreciate a lift and I guess I’m pretty curious about this job offer thing.”

Combeferre stood, holding out a hand to Grantaire.   
  
“Come on, then,” he said, more gently than before. “In return, you can tell me why you’re so against going home. My name's Combeferre, by the way.”

Grantaire took his hand tentatively and offered a weak smile.   
  
"Sorry for nicking your car, Combeferre."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one afternoon. Hashtag blessed.


	3. Chapter 3

The first five minutes of the drive passed in silence. Combeferre fully intended to drive until Grantaire started talking; he thought that was perfectly reasonable but Grantaire’s extended silence seemed to suggest that he didn’t agree.

Just as Combeferre was about to prompt him, Grantaire opened his mouth, took a deep breath and started to explain.   
  
“My dad’s a dick,” he said bluntly, keeping his expression neutral and his gaze focused ahead. “He split from my mum when I was, like, three? Or something. I don’t even know because he won’t talk about it or her so…” He shrugged, glancing over at Combeferre, then carried on. “He has anger issues. Drinking issues. Name an issue and he’ll have it. And I’m not good at the stuff he wants me to be good at - you know, maths and football and - uh. I don’t know why I’m explaining all this to you because I don’t even know you and I stole your car so I expect we’re probably on the way to the police station now, right?”

“We’re not.”   
  
Grantaire didn’t seem to hear him. “So, dad’s probably going to kill me for getting caught. I only went out for a pack of cigarettes and now I’m going to end up arrested or dead - or arrested and dead. Fuck.”   
  
He let out a sharp breath and rubbed his hands together nervously, stealing another glance at Combeferre.   
  
“I’m not turning you in,” he said firmly. “You managed to steal my car; that’s quite a feat. I’m impressed.”   
  
Grantaire snorted dismissively, folding his arms and staring out the window. “Whatever. I suppose prison is better than being stuck with _him_.” He said it more to himself, as if to convince himself that there was a silver lining to being caught.   
  
“I’d like you to come and stay with me for a while,” Combeferre cut in.   
  
“What the fuck?”   
  
“Language,” Combeferre reprimanded mildly. “You’re obviously not happy at home. Your father is unpleasant to be around; I would go so far as to say that he’s abusive. You can come and stay with me.”   


If he was honest, Combeferre didn’t know where the offer came from. All he knew about Grantaire was that he had a penchant for fancy cars and was unhappy at home. For all he knew, Grantaire’s criminal tendencies could run deeper than he thought and he would ransack Combeferre’s house while he slept.   
  
Good luck to him, he thought, while simultaneously berating himself for being so impulsive. How was he supposed to explain his job to Grantaire? There was no guarantee that he wouldn’t  go and tell everyone about the Kingsmen. Who would believe him, though? They’d all laugh him off for having an overactive imagination.   
  
That being said, Combeferre still questioned his own sanity in agreeing to tell Grantaire.   
  
“Are you a pimp?” Grantaire demanded abruptly, his expression turning suspicious. “Is that what that whole ‘recruitment process’ thing was about? I come and stay with you for a few days, you test the waters and if I’m any good, you’ll hook me up with some clients?”  
  
Combeferre couldn’t help but laugh aloud at that; his worries were momentarily forgotten. “I’m not a pimp,” he assured Grantaire. “I’ll explain more about ‘that whole recruitment process thing’ in a minute. Will you come and stay with me or would you rather I took you back to your father?”   
  
Grantaire suspicions didn’t disappear entirely but he seemed inclined to at least hear Combeferre out. “I can kip at yours for a few days, I guess. No funny business, though. I’m not like that.”  
  
Combeferre shook his head, eyes twinkling in amusement. “You have my word; there will be no ‘funny business’.”   
  
“Right. And I’ll need to go back and pick up some clothes and stuff.”  
  
“No need. You can borrow some of mine.”   
  
Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up. “What, your suits and shit?”   
  
“Believe it or not, Grantaire, I do have some more casual clothes. They’ll be a little big on you but you’ll be comfortable enough, I should think.”  
  
What was he doing? Combeferre asked himself yet again. It was too late to back out now and he knew that Grantaire would be a good candidate, so long as he showed initiative and a willingness to learn (and a willingness to leave his criminal ways behind him). The boy was obviously very intelligent and kept himself in good shape. This wasn’t a complete mistake, he told himself. If only he could make himself believe it.

“Whatever you say,” Grantaire shrugged, huffing a soft chuckle. “Can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. I don’t know you. For all I know, you could be a - I don’t know. A murderer or something. You’re not a murderer, are you?”   
  
“I’m not going to kill you, Grantaire. Just like I’m not taking you to the police. See?”   
  
The car rolled to a stop on a road with a block of big, white town houses on one side and a colourful park on the other. **  
**

Grantaire whistled softly, sitting up straighter and looking over at Combeferre. “You live here? Fucking sweet. Your job must pay well - or is your flat another ‘perk’?”   
  
Combeferre smiled wryly. “The job pays well. Come on in and I’ll tell you a bit more about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now beta'd by [switchferre](switchferre.tumblr.com) on tumblr/[atheldamn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/atheldamn/pseuds/atheldamn) on here. Thank you!  
> I'm on [tumblr](officialcombetaire.tumblr.com) \- come say hi!


End file.
